


next to the sea in the slow autumn at my window

by wshxn



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Park Chanyeol & Oh Sehun Are Best Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wshxn/pseuds/wshxn
Summary: sehun doesn’t notice a lot of things.





	next to the sea in the slow autumn at my window

sehun doesn’t notice a lot of things.  
  
chanyeol doesn’t blame him, really, especially since his best friend is struggling with two part-time jobs while maintaining his gpa under his art degree. chanyeol doesn’t blame him, not really, even if sehun has forgotten one too many times the important days of chanyeol’s life.  
  
today is the seventh year chanyeol’s parents have passed, and sehun is nowhere in sight. they had agreed to meet by the school gates at half past five, and chanyeol has been waiting for a little more than twenty minutes when sehun shows up panting and scooting over to chanyeol with shaky breaths and a warm hug, an apology muffled on the collar of his shirt. chanyeol pats his head, _it’s alright_ , and sehun smiles wanly under the lamp post. in one hand, chanyeol is clutching a bouquet of flowers, palm warm against sehun’s in the other as they walk.  
  
but sometimes it pains chanyeol that his best friend, this one person he’d gladly take a bullet for, seems to have no clue at all how his forgetfulness actually _hurts_ , like he takes chanyeol’s kindness and patience for granted. chanyeol can vaguely recall sehun forgetting his birthday for two consecutive years, and chanyeol had laughed it off with a tight smile and an aching chest.  
  
but even so, chanyeol looks at sehun like he’s the universe with all its splendor and beauty, and he loves him with all his bones and his shortcomings, his odd sense of humor and childlike nature.  
  
chanyeol learned to stop crying a few of years back, fingers tracing the names of his loved ones even if the concrete is cold and haunting under his touch. he utters a silent prayer, _i’m strong enough that you’d be so proud of me_ , and when he’s through, he finds that sehun’s eyes remain closed. he watches him with awe, heartbeat melancholic and quick at sehun’s whispered words, _i’ll take care of him well, mrs. park_ , and the tears threaten to spill again.  
  
sehun doesn’t notice a lot of things, but he is all chanyeol has.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
sehun was only twelve, then, all lanky limbs and crooked teeth, when chanyeol saw him for the first time. chanyeol had his head bent low, a wet sheen of tears obscuring his vision over his ferret that had gone missing. a shadow loomed above his head at the swings, unmoving, and when chanyeol looked up, he was met with pursed lips and a curious gaze. _why are you crying?_  
  
there was no hint of remorse in his voice. just mere curiosity and fascination, as if chanyeol’s tears were worth more than an expression of sadness. _i-i lost my ferret._  
  
_hmm_ , sehun sat on the swing on chanyeol’s right, legs spread out in front of him relaxedly. _i’m sorry that happened. what’s your name?_  
  
_p-park chanyeol._  
  
it surprised chanyeol, sehun’s nonchalance, and much more when sehun held out his hand for chanyeol to take. _i’m oh sehun_ , he said, all smiles and a glint of mischief. _and i’ll be your friend, park chanyeol._  
  
when chanyeol held his hand, somehow, it was like he’d found himself again.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
chanyeol wasn’t sure how it started.  
  
how with every graze of sehun’s fingers along the palm of his hand meant a lot more than friendship for him; how every spark of joy in sehun’s eyes meant chanyeol could give him the world if he could, if sehun would allow it, heart beating to sehun’s quiet breathing in the still of the night when he ought to be sleeping.  
  
maybe it was when sehun’s brows creased with worry over chanyeol’s fever, calls and messages from friends discarded in favor of making chanyeol soup and tea, running down the nearest drug store for medicine, and soothing down chanyeol’s delirious calls for his mother’s name with a hand through his hair. _i’m here, i’m here._  
  
maybe it was when chanyeol had watched sehun work, shoulders hunched over a piece of artwork as paint-strickened fingers moved languidly over the canvas, a streak of red across his cheekbones under the light of his room; or when chanyeol cried _with_ sehun over a heartbreak, holding him close, singing him quiet lullabies until sehun falls asleep on his shoulder, still breathtakingly beautiful despite the grief etched on his features, and chanyeol slowly piecing back the parts of his best friend’s being over the months.  
  
or maybe it was precisely when sehun came knocking excitedly on his door one evening, a six-pack raised above his head with the widest grin and a proud, _i made it, chanyeol! i’m going to new york!_ that chanyeol's heart skipped a beat, raw and unreal.  
  
but along with that certainty, chanyeol felt his insides burn.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
four and a half bottles of soju later, chanyeol’s mind is abuzz with sehun’s excitement, fingers greasy from the all-cheese pizza sehun ordered halfway through ‘iron man’. his chest constricts with sehun’s every cackle, alcohol-induced words slurring warmth in the shell of his ear.  
  
sehun’s cheeks are rosy, but his eyes are brightly blown open even under the dim light of the room. he’s always been a lightweight—two bottles of soju in and he’s a goner. sehun looks two seconds away from passing out on the couch, yet his gaze almost seems sober as he tells chanyeol of the many opportunities new york has to offer. chanyeol wants to kiss that pouty mouth silly, wants to paint words on the canvas of sehun’s skin, lips sealing promises and sweet nothings in hopes of making him stay.  
  
but sehun’s happiness matters so much more than chanyeol’s selfishness. who is he to deprive his best friend of his ambitions? certainly not someone worth wasting his dreams on. _how long will you be gone?_  
  
_a year_ , comes sehun’s reply—unsure, frightened, like the very thought of leaving chanyeol to his own devices scares him more than the thought of being in a country so foreign and unfamiliar. _just three semesters to learn every damn thing i need to know about art and its complexities._  
  
chanyeol’s throat dries. _come home soon, will you?_  
  
sehun’s eyelashes fan beautifully over his hollow cheeks, a small hint of a smile slowly curling his lips. _you’ll be so busy with your novel, you wouldn’t even know i’m gone._  
  
_that’s not true_ , chanyeol says, _because i miss you already_ , and the honesty in his voice is so apparent that sehun has to break eye contact, breathing hollow and heartbeat unexplainably erratic. _do you really have to leave?_  
  
_yes_ , sehun responds almost immediately, putting a distance between them like all of a sudden he needs the space to just breathe. _i need this, chanyeol. so do you._ and for the first time that night, chanyeol knows he isn’t talking about merely leaving just for higher education.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
chanyeol spends a great amount of time wondering if he’d been the reason why sehun had left in the first place—if sehun had just wanted to be away from chanyeol’s constant dependency and attachment. he remembers so vividly how clear it had been in sehun’s eyes, the eagerness to leave, despite how many times he spoke of thrilling adventures and delightful unfamiliarity in places not within chanyeol’s reach.  
  
it was plain as day, the uncertainty in sehun’s voice, like he was running away from something he hadn’t quite figured out yet. it was in the way his fingers lingered around chanyeol’s wrist as they waited for the boarding announcement, how his arms shook around chanyeol’s shoulders while they embraced; it was in the way he promised to come back home in a whisper in chanyeol’s ear, voice quivering with something unspoken— _let’s talk on skype every day!_  
  
chanyeol wanted to tell him he loved him, _you don’t have to leave_ , wanted to pull him back with so much force and keep him by his side when sehun looked back, eyes wet with unshed tears and a promise of coming back home every step he took farther away. but chanyeol stood still, watching his best friend disappear down the departure hall without so much as a movement or an attempt to act on his feelings.  
  
when he got home that morning, the sob that escaped him is almost uncontrollable.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
south korea is thirteen hours ahead of new york; when the sun rises high above the clouds, specks of white across the clear blue sky of the big apple, the moon hovers quietly over the evening in seoul.  
  
skyping with sehun becomes a habit, that despite the time difference and sehun’s worrisome reminders of getting enough sleep, chanyeol remains adamant about their daily routine. _it makes me miss you less_ , chanyeol would argue, and sehun would just sigh over the speakers, _but it makes me miss you more_. and somehow it always dies from there.  
  
there is a dull, hollow space in chanyeol’s chest from sehun’s absence, and he uses this feeling to write for the next couple of months. he writes and writes and writes until his fingers tingle from exhaustion. there are days when he refuses to bathe, weeks wherein eating would be substituted by typing and retyping words that would and could mean everything to his career. he only really stops when the designated ringtone for skype indicates an incoming phone call from his best friend, whether it be during the earlier parts of day or the dead of night.  
  
_yah, park chanyeol_ , comes sehun’s greeting one morning in october, just when the sun begins to rise. _when was the last time you shaved?_  
  
_not in a few weeks_ , chanyeol replies honestly, scratching his moustache for emphasis. _haven’t gotten the time to do so._  
  
and he tells chanyeol of all the boring lectures, the professors with _sticks up their asses, i swear_ , and the classes worth attending and everything feeling _so, so big and bright and great and i just wish you were here to experience it all with me, chanyeol._  
  
the fourth postcard from sehun arrived at his doorstep this morning, a view of times square photographed on one side and sehun's squiggly writing on the other. there is a sad smile on chanyeol’s lips as he says, _i wish i was, too._  
  
_but chanyeol_ , sehun is using that intonation again, the same one he uses when he’s about to reprimand chanyeol for jeopardizing his health. _i hope you’re not choosing to be lonely._  
  
chanyeol frowns at the camera above the screen of his laptop, the green light somewhat menacing. maybe sehun will never understand that he is the only one chanyeol really needs. _i am not. baekhyun and jongdae drop by occasionally. jongin, too, except he’s a pussy at ‘fatal frame’, so._  
  
_not everyone shares your interest with anything horrific, hyung_ , sehun rolls his eyes, but there is a lilt in his voice, _especially jongin. but uhmm, hey. how often does jongin drop by at your place?_  
  
_not so often. twice a week at most._ chanyeol pauses to watch sehun fidget with the hem of his shirt, fingers tangling in fabric visible even with a tiny screen window. _why?_  
  
sehun looks up at chanyeol, then immediately looks back down at the space below the camera. _nothing. just… wanted to make sure you’re alright._  
  
_i am, sehun. don’t worry too much about me._  
  
_i know, i just_ —sehun still refuses to look him in the eyes. _i miss you._  
  
chanyeol almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of his own heart beating and breaking. _i-i miss you, too._  
  
sehun's smile is priceless, beautiful despite the fatigue in the crinkles of his eyes as he asks about chanyeol's novel, and they talk about the enigmatic protagonist and his abominable sidekick until the drowsiness pulls them in, falling asleep to soft snores and a discontinued conversation.  
  
a day ends and another one begins.  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
it's three weeks into november that chanyeol writes sixty thousand words, wired into fiction by the heartache and the longing for the company of his best friend. he tells sehun of his progress, tells him that the climax is nearing its end, arms flailing about excitedly that sehun laughs through the mic in utter amusement. _congratulations, hyung!_  
  
on chanyeol’s birthday, sehun calls him at exactly midnight korea time, and greets him as enthusiastic as ever when the clock hits twelve in the evening on his watch. chanyeol celebrates over pizza, fried chicken, and beer, the company of baekhyun, kyungsoo, jongdae, and jongin adding to his sated happiness. sehun raises his own can of budweiser over the camera, occupying half the screen with the beer and his obnoxiously lazy grin. _the happiest and the cheesiest of birthdays, hyung, you are and will always be my man!_  
  
a week later, a box arrives straight from new york with a note that says: _for when your writer’s block becomes unbearable_ , and at the bottom are two white nerf n-strike maverick guns and an extra pack of suction darts. _go have fun, hyung!_ and sehun’s thoughtfulness brings tears to chanyeol’s eyes. he sobs through his voicemail, _thank you so much, i miss you terribly,_ wishing he’d somehow wake up to sehun by his side no matter how impossible.  
  
but in return, he writes until he reaches ninety-nine thousand words—concluding the story of what his mind created it to be. a few days before christmas, he mails his very first draft to sehun in a binded ream of bond papers, all ninety-nine thousand words and a dedication ( _for you, simply for existing_ ), along with a thick wool scarf the color of sand, packs of honey butter chips, and a piece of chanyeol’s heart tucked between the pages.  
  
he hopes sehun somehow _notices_ , and picks up the piece of chanyeol he’d intentionally left there.  
  
but he doesn’t, clearly, as sehun breaks news of having met someone a few days before the times square ball ceremoniously dropped to loud, ear-splitting cheers welcoming the new year. it’s jongin’s birthday in a week, and chanyeol has yet to get him a present. but sehun is making it hard for him to think, to actually breathe, like all of a sudden chanyeol is caged in with no way out. there is an unsettling feeling in his chest, like tongues of flame clawing out of it in rage and disconcerting agony.  
  
he doesn’t even listen long enough to hear this person’s name, _you’re so fucking dense_ , cutting the conversation short and shutting off all means of communication without a moment’s hesitation.  
  
this time, despite the warning voices in his head, chanyeol chooses to be alone, succumbing to the hurt and the frustration without answering any of his friends’ messages and calls of concern. he keeps his doors locked, his pantry almost empty, and his bed unmade.  
  
(writing reminds him of sehun’s smile, laughter light in the heat of summer, hair golden under the midday sun.)  
  
kyungsoo knocks his door down later on, aggravated over chanyeol’s selfishness and insensitivity, yet chanyeol remains unmoving and impassive to his friend’s scolding, numb to his surroundings even as jongin collects him ruefully in his arms. _it’s okay, it’ll be okay._  
  
baekhyun excuses himself to visit the supermarket a few blocks down the road, dragging jongdae along with a frown on his lips, and in heavy silence, they make galbi and kimchi fried rice—chanyeol’s favorites.  
  
the silence only ends when chanyeol sniffles through his meal, knuckles white from clutching his chopsticks a little too strongly that it might have been painful, if not for the aching feeling in his chest. it only ends when jongin tells them in a soft whisper of _wu yifan_ and the many things he has done for and with sehun, the many moments of pure and utter bliss under the lush green shades of central park.  
  
kyungsoo eyebrows furrow with something incomprehensible and a little something like annoyance mixed with worry as it dawns to him just how important sehun is to chanyeol; how all these years, chanyeol has been feeling _alone_ —abandoned or left by those that mattered most. the sadness that engulfs his friend is something akin to mourning, like he’s kept the grief hidden, trapped within himself and away from the probing eyes of those close to him.  
  
with careful, trembling hands, jongdae unhooks chanyeol’s fingers and closes them with his own. _we’re here for you, chanyeol_ , and it is perhaps that one single statement that assures chanyeol that he will make it through.  
  
_don’t ever forget._  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
on a rainy saturday in february, an incoming call jolts chanyeol awake at half past three in the afternoon. his blood freezes at the flash of the name, panic rising in his throat as he rummages through his room for a clean shirt to wear. he runs a trembling hand through his hair and licks his lips in agitation, stomach dropping mercilessly at the click of a button.  
  
on the screen, sehun is just as beautiful as chanyeol remembers him to be, petal lips gnawed between teeth. chanyeol forgets how to breathe, terrified of how sehun still manages to sweep him off his feet.  
  
_chanyeol_ , sehun breathes, voice quivering over the static. _it’s been a while._  
  
and all the walls chanyeol has built these past few weeks come crashing down, crumbling beneath his feet in helpless rubble. _h-hey._  
  
_how’ve you been?_ there is hesitation in the way sehun averts his gaze to anywhere but chanyeol as he asks, the hem of his shirt crumpled between his fingers. chanyeol pretends not to notice, pretends that all those sleepless nights and weeks of waiting and hoping for sehun to _notice_ never happened. he avoids sehun’s question like a plague, and instead asks, _how is new york? how is—how’s wu yi—_  
  
_he’s not you_ , sehun cuts him off, eyes suspiciously wet under the dim light of the screen. there is a hopeful ghost of a smile on his lips as it quivers slightly in anticipation of a response that could make or break him altogether. _he’s nothing like you, chanyeol._  
  
when chanyeol merely stares, silence leaving him cold and unfeeling, sehun continues. _he was my first kiss, and—and it wasn’t what i_ wanted _! it was fleeting, chanyeol, a-and i wasn’t—yifan wasn’t you—he was just not_ you. silence. _please say something, hyung._  
  
_i kissed jongin_ , is what comes out of chanyeol’s pale lips, and there is hurt and sadness written in the way sehun’s eyes squint like he’s been burned by the prick of a thousand flames. chanyeol thought it right seeing sehun in this state, vulnerable, broken, and so very far away, yet guilt and regret come barreling into his system when the dam breaks and the tears spill from sehun’s eyes without warning.  
  
_i-i see_ , sehun wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand hurriedly and with great effort like crying is such a cursed gesture. _i have to go_ , and the screen abruptly goes black.  
  
chanyeol isn’t even given the chance to explain that the kiss meant nothing more than an accident, one that beared curiosity and surprise rather than romance. chanyeol and jongin had sworn to keep it between them, right after jongin had confessed that he’s been in love with the same person since middle school— _baekhyun doesn’t have to know now, but he will someday._  
  
he doesn’t hear from sehun since, until the cherry blossoms bloom in the first of the spring and the hollowness in chanyeol’s chest constricts into something less numbing, more human. his calls and messages go unanswered, his apology lingering somewhere in between the distance and the silence. the lack of communication doesn’t make him miss sehun less, but the ache and the longing become bearable as the days drag on.  
  
olympic park is awfully quiet. a few more days into the month, and sehun will be celebrating his birthday. chanyeol spent nights wondering how and who his best friend will be spending his day with. he hasn’t heard from him, and chanyeol is both worried and relieved, plagued by the heart-wrenching thoughts of being easily forgotten.  
  
maybe new york is doing sehun wonders. greatness, after all, is etched at the very core of sehun’s soul like he’s meant to be there and nowhere else. chanyeol is still lost within himself, within the pages of a book unopened and unfinished, the vastness of the world an overwhelming phenomenon he has yet to understand.  
  
but if sehun were here, he’d wake up to chocolate chip pancakes, overly sweetened coffee, and a poorly wrapped present the size of a shoebox (or maybe, if chanyeol is bold enough, he’d wake up to a kiss or two, a _happy birthday_ lingering between the soft touch of their lips). if sehun were here, they’d be spending his day drowning in bubble tea, in hushed conversations under blanket forts and movie marathons, over cheesy pizza pies and half-finished paintings. if sehun were here, chanyeol would be telling sehun just how much he means to him, and he would be the loudest, the brightest, the _happiest_ , like he’d won just about everything under the sun and beyond.  
  
he sends a package with a heavy, expectant heart, and a card that simply says _you’re all that still matters to me._  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
_there’s something i might’ve always wanted to tell you_ , sehun’s lower lip is trapped between his teeth as he mumbles through the mouthpiece of his headset, windows open to the sky in a stark shade of navy and the august breeze light on his skin. _there’s something i know i must say._  
  
it has been exactly four months since they’ve last spoken, and it feels very much like seeing sehun for the first time as chanyeol’s heart skips a familiar beat to his best friend’s name.  
  
chanyeol didn’t expect sehun to respond to his greeting card at all, how with every month that passed by he wanted to fling himself dramatically into the sun or to literally pack his bags and travel around south korea to the point of no return. he’d absentmindedly prepared himself for the worst, for the very possibility of losing sehun altogether and finding another reason to just _be_. but there sehun was, still beautifully mysterious and decipherable and all things wonderful with the shadows that loom over his face.  
  
just like that, with the way sehun really looked at him like he is the universe with all its magnificence and and grace, chanyeol was back to square one.  
  
there are butterflies in chanyeol’s stomach, thoughts and words going haywire with every tick of the clock, but there are stars in the familiar brightness of sehun’s eyes. there are thousands of miles between them, and yet sehun feels so much closer than before, so much more brilliant and blinding, and somehow, with the way sehun gazes into his eyes like it held a million truths and just one park chanyeol, chanyeol just _understands_ the gravity of sehun’s words—the truth in between the whispered syllables of a dark, cold evening.  
  
chanyeol breaks into a smile, no longer tight-lipped, forced, and subdued, but like spring and sunshine in his jeans. _tell me when you get here._  
  
and it is so incredibly easy to fall back into routine when sehun comes back a month after, hair black as night but still looking as beautiful as ever with his bangs falling dramatically over his eyes. around his neck is the scarf chanyeol bought for him all those months ago, his knuckle white around the handle of his luggage as he takes careful, eager steps towards chanyeol.  
  
_welcome back, sehun._  
  
but this time, sehun falls into his best friend’s arms where he knows he rightfully belongs. somewhere along the salutations, chanyeol hears those three words for the first time whispered so gently in his ear, like a promise so secretive it’s only made between them, and when chanyeol dips his head to capture those very lips that spoke them, sehun meets him gently halfway.  
  
_i’m finally home._

**Author's Note:**

> _originally written for the[halyconboys](http://halcyonboys.livejournal.com) fic fest._


End file.
